


Attached (End of All Things)

by sherwoodfox



Series: The Madman and the Worm [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Multi, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 04:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherwoodfox/pseuds/sherwoodfox
Summary: King Bradley, ‘the most powerful man in the country’, is in truth little more than a puppet, thrown around by forces older and more evil than he will ever be.One day in office, he gets a visit from his wife. There is business to discuss.
Relationships: Envy/Zolf J. Kimblee, King Bradley/Mrs. Bradley
Series: The Madman and the Worm [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1053362
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Attached (End of All Things)

The general sitting before him wanted something. That much was obvious. His voice was high and wheedling, like the buzzing of a little insect, the kind that should be squashed. Why had Bradley made him a general again? That had clearly been a mistake. Whatever potential he had seen- though it had most likely been a potential for malleability, more than skill- was not worth having to listen to nonsense like this. This was the type of man who would bend over backwards to please, to compliment, to grovel- and would just as quickly turn away, if the opportunity for something better arose. An insipid, power-hungry weasel, without even enough charm or intelligence to put his conniving nature to use. Right now he was trying to wriggle his way into an elevated status under cheap pretence, with poorly crafted words that revealed their true intention after only a moment’s thought. Pathetic. Bradley could barely stand to listen. Why had he even let the man into his office? He shouldn’t have even granted him the privilege of an interview with ‘the most powerful man in the country’ (a poor, bitter joke, but to this man at least, it was true). He should have known better.

After all, men like this made Bradley _angry,_ that’s all there was to it. But then, so did many things.

This fool was going to be demoted, that was for sure. He clearly wasn’t worthy of anything that Bradley had given him. Bradley’s fists, under the desk where they appeared to sit serenely on his lap, were clenched tight enough to leave marks on the insides of his palms. Even more strongly, some urge inside insisted that he get it over with, reach for his sword and strike the man’s head from his shoulders- splatter the office with the red colour that had poisoned him from the inside for so many years. It would almost be worth it, for a fraction of a second, before the ever-present annoyance and irritability set in again…

A knock at the door silenced the idiot-general, and paused Bradley’s scarlet thoughts.

“Come in,” he called in the ensuing silence, and his voice, as always, was calm.

A soldier peeked his head into the office- one of the lieutenants that guarded the door, recognizable.

“Sir, your wife is here to see you.”

Bradley nodded.

“Send her in, then,” he said, and as the guard dipped away he fixed the general with a look of clear dismissal. Would he know how poorly this ‘talk’ had gone for him? It might be difficult to say. He really was a fool.

“Perhaps, sir, we can discuss this more at another time,” said the other man as he stood, and the sheen of sweat that had appeared on his hairless upper lip suggested that he did understand, even if perhaps only a little.

Bradley said nothing. As the man’s back was turned, the urge to rise and strike him in some way came again- brief and powerful and fueled by an incredible rage- but it passed even before he was out the door.

And Bradley wouldn’t have actually done it. He always had perfect control. The Führer was stern, but had a good sense of humour, he was as well-liked as he was powerful- that was the image Bradley had cultivated, and one he intended to keep. No one could ever guess at the existence of the fire that sat simmering in his veins, forever on the verge of bubbling up and breaking out, turning all the power and strength and speed he possessed into uncontrolled destruction, making the world as red as his insides were. As red as the stone that had calcified around his heart, having been put there all those years ago in that laboratory…

Bradley breathed, paying attention to the particles of dust suspended in the air, the minute shifts in the pattern of the rug beneath his desk. Even with that particular eye covered, his vision was excellent. The stupid general was gone, and Bradley knew he wasn’t going to give him anything he asked for, so there was no reason to think of him any longer. His wife was here. That was always, in a sense, good news.

Of all people, she was one of the few who never sparked that unnatural temper in him. Somehow, like the bottom of a deep and still lake, her presence was always soothing. Always quiet. That was why he had chosen her. Of all the women who had vied for his attention in his youth, she was the only one that he had ever cared for, though it was hard sometimes to admit this. It was dangerous, in fact, to admit this.

Bradley dismissed those thoughts. What could she have come for? Usually she never wished to disturb his work. The distraction was entirely welcome, but it was unusual.

The door opened noiselessly, and with a bow from one of the lieutenants the First Lady of Amestris was let in. She was smiling, just a little, and it was that delicate kind of smile that she always wore. Nothing so terrible could have happened, then, if she was smiling. It couldn’t be an emergency. So with these faint worries quelled Bradley took to looking at her- really looking at her, the way only his enhanced perception could. She was wearing the same simple pink dress and over-jacket she had to a ceremony recently, he recognized it. It was an outfit that she liked. Even her golden earrings were the same as that day- he recognized the tiny braided pattern in the loops. Her hair, tied back against the nape of her neck, was perfectly kept, not disturbed by her journey in the slightest. Her pink lipstick had sunken into the lines of her lips, leaving the colour undisturbed as she smiled.

He expected her to say something, but she didn’t. Silence had fallen with the shutting of the door. She walked past his desk, her serene smile fixed to her face, and closed the curtains to the one window he had in his main office- a very large one that overlooked the main walkways in Central Headquarters. Without turning to look himself, he heard the fabric shifting along its rails, and the room became darker, until no more natural light remained. The relieved feeling that had appeared upon seeing her and her tender smile was suddenly completely gone. What exactly was he feeling now? Perhaps it was apprehension, though why he couldn’t say.

His wife came back over to the desk. He looked at her. Not a single spot nor wrinkle on her skin was out of place. Every detail in her face was perfect, exactly the way it was supposed to be, and he could see it all in perfect clarity, the way he saw everything. She placed one hand- pale pink nail polish clean, the way she kept it, her wedding band glittering on her finger- on the desk before him, leaning over, so her shadow touched his face. He didn’t smell her perfume. That was strange. She usually wore floral scents, subtle ones that he associated only with her. Right now she smelled of cold stone.

Like the Underground-

“We need to talk, _Wrath,”_ she said, her smile now not delicate in the slightest, and as he watched his wife’s face melted away. The wrinkles and soft curves became replaced by harsh angles and smooth plains, marble and ice where there had been warm humanity. Her hair came undone from its customary bun and fell about her face, lengthening, darkening to a colour that was, unmistakably, _green._

The eyes that met his now were not human in the slightest. Even less human than his own powerful ones were- far less human, in fact. Amethysts were rocks, after all, flat and lifeless and _cruel._

“Why did you wear that?” Bradley said, and though his voice came out even his blood was boiling once more.

Envy turned its head slightly, like a cat, still smirking like it knew exactly what he was holding in. He supposed it did. It was one of the only ones that did, and wasn’t that an awful thought? He couldn’t stand how close it was, and it probably knew that, too.

“Pretending to be anyone else would have involved waiting,” it said, voice sharp and grinding where his wife’s would have been soft. “I didn’t want to wait. What, you didn’t like it?”

It rocked forward on the desk, making the wood creak ominously, a gesture like it was going to kiss him. Strands of its leaflike hair brushed his cheek. His teeth clenched. Envy was a _snake._

“What did you want to talk about?” Bradley asked, instead of answering. This at least made it lean back, blowing cold air across his face as it did so. Its breath smelled faintly of human blood. He didn’t want to know why.

“There’s a lot of work that needs doing,” it said, eyes flicking briefly up at the ceiling before coming back down to him. When dressed like this, it didn’t pretend to be human at all, every gesture was strange and animal and utterly unnatural. “...do you really think I can take care of it all myself?”

“You should,” Bradley said, unable to help himself, and Envy’s eyes narrowed. But now he knew what it was going to say. And, unfortunately, he found he didn’t have any good defences, not anymore.

There really was a lot of work to do. Too much for one person (not-person). He was reserved to his role as Führer, after all, and Pride (who Bradley could barely stand to think of at times, for the mixture of utter rage and grinding horror that his name managed to evoke), though powerful, had very limited mobility. Both Sloth and Gluttony couldn’t be trusted to anything without explicit instructions, someone had to oversee them at all times, so no extra manpower there. The diminutive Greed had already taken off in his predecessor's footsteps. Lust, that old witch, was dead, and she had been the most capable freelance agent of them all (Envy could have been, maybe, if not for the fact that it was _insane)_. And without her, it was barely managing. It had let some prisoner escape, or so he had been told. 

And plenty of time had passed since the Ishval War. Youth these days knew next to nothing of it, and those old enough to have lived through it kept their mouths shut. If anything were to happen with _that man_ now, it would hardly make waves in the political sphere. It probably wouldn’t even be significant to the press. Any outrage over the event would be very easily stifled. All of Bradley’s reasons not to do it had been crippled; his prior justifications held little weight anymore.

“You want to let the Crimson Alchemist out,” he said, and Envy grinned.

Zolf J. Kimblee, the most destructive of all the alchemists of Ishval- the cause of high casualties on both sides of the war. Bradley remembered him very well. It had angered him, how casually that man had treated the lives of fellow soldiers, of Bradley’s own commanders. Killing them hadn’t endeared Kimblee to him at all. The truth was that, back then, if it had been within his power the alchemist would have been executed. Such an unreliable force was no good to anyone. But _‘Father’,_ of course, didn’t care about the loss of a few tiny human lives. He didn’t care at all. He had been willing to listen to other options.

And_ this _monster had taken quite a liking to Kimblee, as he understood it. Enough to want to keep him alive. Enough to ensure that the alchemist kept his stone- that it didn’t have to be torn from his belly, the way Bradley would have had it. He remembered being so angry about that decision- angry that someone would get away with such deadly insubordination, angry that the system was just _that _corrupt, angry because he was just as much a proof of that corruption as anything else. The most he had been able to do at the time was ensure that Kimblee would be put away, in the name of not making waves, of keeping the illusion of propriety for the masses, disguising the rotten underbelly of the country with a shell of pretend justice. 

And the ancient thing in the Underground had his reasons, after all. Envy’s pets were always useful- at first.

Bradley’s justifications had been good enough for keeping the alchemist incarcerated back then, good enough year after year, even while Envy got antsy and kept pushing for an early release. But he knew they wouldn’t be good enough now.

“I already talked with Father,” Envy cooed. Its eyes glittered, eerie and reptile in the artificial light. This thing had no qualms about calling that creature by a paternal name- unlike Bradley, it was completely fake. No part of it had ever been born. It had never had a human soul. “...he agrees with me, of course. So you don’t really have a _choice.”_

There was quiet for a moment. Bradley didn’t doubt that if he tried anything, Envy would hurt him somehow. He could see the tightness in every coil of muscle in its body, as clearly as he could see everything else- each individual green eyelash, the hint of a too-pink tongue pressing against sharp white teeth, tiny imperfections in the plaster on the wall of his office behind it. He was angry.

“What are you going to do with him?” Bradley asked, each word measured and calm. The rattling noise Envy made deep in its chest at this victory was entirely serpentine.

“I’ll send him after Marcoh and the Ishvalan dog, first,” Envy said, voice low in its chest, tone steeped with satisfaction. “Give him a team. Make him part of the Secret Service, in essence, so he’ll have what he needs. Don’t worry, little brother, it won’t mean any more work for _you.”_

Bradley was sure that last part was an insult of some kind. He hated being treated with such familiarity by these creatures. _Little brother. _What was left of his human heart, entwined though it was with stone, always pulsed with a special kind of rage at things like that.

“So you’ll take care of it,” he said, instead of anything else he could have said.

_“Yessssss,”_ Envy hissed, all glistening fangs and violent intent, and it even had the audacity to pat him on the head, like he was a child. Of course, he was a child, in comparison to this- in comparison to the even worse thing he had to pretend was his son. Envy’s touch was very cold.

“All I need from you is a signature for the pardon,” it continued. “And you don’t even have to sign it. I’ll do that. You won’t even have to _think_ about it.”

Bradley felt sick- and angry, always angry- hearing that, stomach still reeling from its touch. He knew this thing surely wore his face at times, knew that it had memorized his hand to use to forging documents (though if it was really forgery, he couldn’t say), but he didn’t like to think about it. There was a violation there that was too much to touch without going mad. The last thing he needed was to go mad.

“Everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to…” Envy murmured, and it didn’t seem to be talking to Bradley anymore at all, dead eyes glazed. Finally it began to lean away. Surely it would leave soon. It hadn’t really come here to ask permission. It didn’t need his permission. His authority as the Führer was all an illusion. It only wanted to gloat, undoubtedly happy to have something to hold over him. 

He was right, of course. There was nothing more to be said. Envy stepped away from the desk and fluffed out its hair, seeming reluctant as it changed shape once more, its unkind figure winding in and up, taking on new colours until, again, he found himself looking at a perfect replica of his wife.

“Work hard, darling,” it said, blowing him a mocking kiss from his wife’s pink lips, which was a gesture so alien to her it was almost better than the more accurate portrayal from earlier had been. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

As it moved towards the door, something bubbled up from inside Bradley, from his heart all the way to his mouth and into the air. Some small thing born of his wrath he had let go.

“The alchemist is going to die,” he said, and even though he was saying it to spite the demon his voice was still perfectly calm. “He’ll die like all the rest, when the Promised Day comes. And it isn’t so far away, now.”

Envy looked back at him, and maybe it was because of the face it was wearing or maybe it wasn’t, but it had absolutely no expression. Only its eyes held anything inside them, and even then it was naught but a strange, clear light, something Bradley could not name.

“Of course,” it said. “That day will be the End of All Things.”

Bradley said nothing, and Envy smiled a secretive little smile, but it was silent as it left him there, in the dark of his office with the taste of iron on his tongue.

That night when Bradley returned to his private home his wife was there to greet him, as she always was. On this night she was wearing a comfortable blue robe with matching shoes, something the colour of spring periwinkles. Her hair was tied back, still proper, her earrings and makeup perfectly in place, the way she always was. He gazed very intently into her eyes, watching her almost too closely as she removed his jacket, looking for any faint flicker of that unkind fire- but he found none. When his jacket was hung he embraced her, and took in the delicate rosy scent of her skin. She was warm, and soft, and not at all the thing that had been in his office. Of course she wouldn’t be. But he hated the intrusive thoughts that made him check- in choosing to look like her, Envy had corrupted something, and that made him deeply angry.

“Oh, dear,” she said, her voice rather high in her throat, reacting to his apparent passion. “It’s good to see you, too.”

He didn’t answer, and held her still a moment more- not for any confirmation, there was no more need of that. Just to hold her. There were only ever a few moments scattered over the long weeks and months of his life where he could hold her as unrestrainedly as this, without any concern for what proof of his affection might do. Without any concern for being watched.

At the slightest shift in the atmosphere he drew away, and sure enough, there appeared little Selim, rounding the corner with an excited look on his young face.

“Father!” he called, throwing himself around Bradley’s legs as soon as he could. Gently, his wife laughed, and her arms stayed resting on his, a comforting minute pressure. Bradley laughed too, a kindly patron’s laugh, and they looked in every way a perfect happy family.

“Oh, he has some things to tell you today,” she said, patting Selim on the head as he pulled back, folding his arms behind his back with all the attempted dignity of a Führer’s son. “He placed first in-”

“Nooo, mother!” Selim cried, childhood distress evidence in every line of his tiny body and every colour in his huge, dark eyes. “Don’t tell him! I want to tell him!”

“Alright, alright,” she said, laughing again around her words. “I’ll go make us some tea. Both of you go settle down in the lounge, and don’t be too excited Selim, I’m sure your father’s tired.”

She squeezed his arm one more time before stepping around him, and he caught one last trace of her perfume. He wondered how she had interpreted his drawn-out embrace, for she couldn’t even begin to imagine the true source of it. Both Selim and he watched her head down the corridor, turning off to find the spacious kitchen, where every night she would make tea for herself and her husband, in an elegant porcelain set she had been given by her mother. Bradley almost wished, this once, that she wouldn’t leave him to do it.

“I’m sure you’ve already heard what Envy’s doing,” said Pride. “That spiteful wretch.”

His voice was colder than the ice that gathered on gravestones, and yet still it came from child-sized lungs and child-made vocal chords. He did not sound angry when he spoke, nor hateful- only slightly imperious, his own superiority such a given fact to him that he had no need for those former things. The juxtaposition never failed to make Bradley angry.

“Yes, I have,” He replied, his own voice neutral. Pride wasn’t looking at him, his eyes narrowed in thought. The shadows of the coat rack darkened, but did not stir.

“I’m not sure I like it,” Pride continued. “The man doesn’t matter, of course. But I think Envy might be..._attached.”_

Bradley didn’t say anything to that. There was no reason to. He knew what Pride meant- Envy had a bad habit of getting ‘attached’, just as Greed had a bad habit of running away. Bradley knew what was going to happen, because it had happened before. 

The Crimson Alchemist would serve his purpose for a while, and then Pride would have him killed. Perhaps Bradley would have to do it. And then Envy, who had already been driven mad by having this done so many times in the past would break just a little more, until the storm passed and the pieces settled and it would become obedient again for a while. Another thirty, even forty years of obedience (if not always competence) before some new psychopath with high ambitions cropped up in Amestris and found himself ensnared in those green vines, and Envy had to be put back in line.

This was why Bradley was so careful. It would be more difficult- less _convenient-_ to kill the First Lady than it would be to bury any of Envy’s insane lovers, but he wasn’t going to risk it. He wouldn’t let Pride know he was ‘attached’.

But of course, it might not even need to happen this way, not this time. The Promised Day was so close, it was right around the corner, that day that really would be the End of All Things. The end of this persona he had crafted over the achingly long years of his life, the end of this little game of house. She would die, he knew it, wasn’t that why he had so forcefully reminded Envy of the alchemist’s fate? Because everyone would die, the garden-world of this country would die, and for all he lived for he might as well die with them.

“Keep an eye on the situation,” Pride said, the strength of his voice bringing Bradley back to the real world, drawing him out from his own mind. “Your better one, of course. I want to know if there’s any concerning developments.”

Bradley nodded, and then Pride turned away, the lights brightening ever so slightly as he made his way down the corridor, the shadows receding almost imperceptibly into their proper places. His wife would soon be done with the tea. They would all go into the lounge and sit about to drink it, and he would hear about whatever Selim had placed first in, as though this idea of ‘Selim’ was anything different from the 400 year old monster that so controlled him. And his wife would know nothing, the only one among them who did not see that this was all just a charade- a play put on for her benefit alone.

The End of All Things. In a sense, that idea was almost a relief, wasn’t it?


End file.
